


Whom Gods Destroy: The Dances of Vulcan Children

by Cheree_Cargill



Series: Glimpses of a Life [71]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Dancing, Gen, Orions, Patriarchy, Whom Gods Destroy (episode)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 23:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16417979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheree_Cargill/pseuds/Cheree_Cargill
Summary: Following the tragic events on Elba II, Kirk and Spock discuss Orion culture and Spock remembers something from his past.





	Whom Gods Destroy: The Dances of Vulcan Children

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Cheree Cargill and is copyright (c) 2018 by Cheree Cargill. This story is Rated PG.

**_Stardate:_ _5719_.6 _._ _Personal Log._ _First Officer Spock recording._**

 As was my custom three times a week, I had risen an hour early and was exercising in the ship's gym, jogging on one of the treadmills, dressed in loose shirt and jogging shorts, feet clad in ankle-high white running boots. As I ran in a smooth cadence, the door slipped open and the Captain entered, dressed in his workout tights and yawning mightily.

"Mornin', Spock," he greeted me.

"Good morning, Captain," I replied without slackening my pace.

He slapped his towel over the bar of the treadmill next to me, set himself and started the machine up, slowly at first, then finally up to the pace I was setting on my own. We were alone in the gym and for a while we ran silently side by side.

He was beginning to perspire but seemed determined to keep up with me. I, of course, remained as cool as I normally was. This light workout was not enough to generate perspiration in a Vulcan, but it kept my muscles toned. After a while, the Captain stepped off his treadmill, wiped his face and downed a swallow of sports drink. In deference to him, I followed his example.

After he caught his breath, he asked, "Spot me?"

"Of course." We moved over to the free weights, where he stretched out on the bench and I moved to guide him through his workout. He was puffing a little bit when he remarked, "Shame about poor Marta, isn't it?"

"Indeed," I answered. "We were able to save all of them but her. I regret that she died so young."

"What was that thing you said about Vulcan children when she was dancing?" he asked, hefting the weights over his head.

"That she reminded me of the dances Vulcan children do? Indeed, she made me somewhat nostalgic, if I understand the term correctly."

Jim lifted the weights several more time, grunting a little as he did so, then directed me to set them back into the rack. Sitting up, he looked over his shoulder at me. "You danced like that, hmm?"

"I did not. The dances I referred to are merely a form of strength and discipline training in the very young. They are more like _tai chi_ than dance, in any case." We switched places and I began my routine with the weights.

Jim chuckled. "Good, because I'm having trouble picturing you in leotards and doing the hootchie kootchie like Marta was doing."

I paused and looked up at him. "Hootchie kootchie? I hardly think a Vulcan, even a young one, would perform those types of moves."

"Probably not. Forgive me, Spock." But he chuckled nevertheless. "Let's cool down and get some coffee," he suggested.

It was 05:45 and other crewmembers were beginning to wander into the gym for their pre‑shift workouts. Normally we would continue our exercise routines until 0600 but I could tell he wanted to talk more privately so we adjourned to the break room next door to the gym where we retrieved coffee and tea from the replicators and settled at a table. We would meet in the mess for a real breakfast before we went on duty.

"I wanted to talk with you some more about Marta," the Captain said. "You seemed rather intrigued with her. I didn't think you'd be attracted to an Orion."

"I was not attracted," I refuted, "but more puzzled. One does not often see Orion children."

His brows perked up. "Children?! That was a pretty well-grown child!"

"Nevertheless, she was not an adult. I doubt that she was older than fifteen, possibly younger. Are you not familiar with the dynamics of Orion families and culture?" I took a sip of my _saya_ tea, watching him ponder.

"Now that you mention it, Spock, I suppose I'm really not." He was plainly more interested now.

"That is not surprising, Jim," I said and steepled my fingers with my elbows on the table top. "They are a very secretive society and most people are only familiar with the slave women one sometimes see performing. I have researched them over the years. Orions and Rigellians are very distant relatives of Vulcans in that they have copper-based blood systems, as evidenced by their green skin, and the same bilateral body structure as Vulcans and Romulans. However, I have managed to ferret out the basics of their society.

"The Orions have an intensely patriarchal family structure. The males, in particular the fathers of family group, are the undisputed rulers. The women are little more than servants and belong completely to the men. While the men entirely run things, the women have little role except to bear children, act as house slaves, and be sexual playthings. From a very early age, the girls are trained in seduction and sexuality. However, they are strictly controlled to remain virgins and have no actual sexual contact until they are married – actually sold by their fathers – to their new husbands and owners. Their value goes down otherwise."

"That's pretty barbaric," Jim commented, taking another drink of his coffee.

"There are a number of cultures on your own planet that retain a similar lifestyle. In the more remote areas of your Middle East and Himalayan Plateau, for instance. Or the subgroup who are called Roma or Gypsies. There are a number of planets in the Federation that do so as well."

"Not on Vulcan, though?" His eyes twinkled a bit as he stared meaningfully at me.

"No. Vulcans have long ago extinguished that primitive mindset in favor of equality."

Jim bent his face to his coffee cup and I heard him mutter, "My wife, attend", so softly that no one else would have heard, but he plainly intended that I do so.

"Captain?"

"Nothing, nothing. Go on."

"Back to Marta, I believe that she was sold by her father when she was barely past puberty, possibly to a new owner who physically and sexually abused her before she was ready to take her place and go on to be trained as an Orion dancing girl. Why this drove her to such madness that she was imprisoned at Elba II, I cannot say. Since only criminally insane are housed there, perhaps she resorted to some act of extreme violence. Killed him, perhaps? I do not know her personal history and her medical records are, of course, sealed and confidential."

Kirk shook his head and then drained his cup. "Tragic indeed, Spock. We'll, it's six o'clock and we'd better get a move on. Still gotta shower and get dressed. See you in the mess in half an hour?"

"Of course." We both rose and returned to our cabins, each of us catching the swift glances and smiles of crewmembers we passed in the corridors. It wasn't often that most of them saw the two senior officers in such casual attire.

Ducking into my quarters, I quickly doffed my exercise shorts and top, kicked off the running boots and stepped into the sonic shower. It took only a few minutes to refresh my body, and then I dressed in my duty uniform, threw the workout clothes into the laundry chute, and sat down at my desk. I had to finish my report on Elba II and return to the mess hall.

I heard the water shower start up in the bathroom facilities I shared with the Captain and knew that he was preparing himself for the day. He preferred water to sonics, saying he felt like he was really clean that way.

As I worked on my report to Starfleet, my mind turned to the topic of the dances that Vulcan children did and compared them to Marta's performance. No, the two were not remotely similar. I recalled my own youth. The group of three-year-olds lined up in the nursery school, desks pushed back, and awaiting our teacher's signal to begin. We were attired in identical uniforms, short pants clinging to chubby legs, bare feet fidgety and restless.

Then her bringing us to attention and leading us through the moves of calm and discipline. Little toes poised in the first position, arms out-stretched, breathing together in a controlled rhythm. It was hard for me to do, for my Human nature wanted to run and play, not stand in place until we all smoothly (more or less) changed to the second position, one foot moved back, torso shifted to one side, arms and hands gracefully following. Then pause, hold, breathe. Then onto the third…

In my mind, I remembered the routine meticulously, but I wondered if my adult body could match the moves my baby body had learned.

Impulsively, I rose and moved to the center of my cabin. It was difficult to achieve in my Starfleet uniform and leather space boots, but with a bit of hesitation, I assumed the first position and held it. It felt good and it felt natural. Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply and then, my body and mind recognized the well‑worn routine. Letting out my pent breath, I began to dance.

THE END

 


End file.
